Not a Cellist
by roodlz
Summary: In the beginning, Tony just wanted coffee, and maybe some banana pancakes. Was that so much to ask? Not a Cellist is a collection of oneshots featuring Phil Coulson and Tony Stark, and the intricacies of their relationship. Rating is at T for now, but may go up in later chapters. Phil/Tony , angst, feels, fluff, etc.
1. What Happens in Vegas

**A/N: **Some notes!

First off, this _is _a Phil Coulson/Tony Stark fic. I have proclaimed that they are IronAgent, and I will go down with my ship.

In addition, I understand that this toes the line of crack fic, but don't knock it till you try it. This also takes place in my Not a Cellist Verse, which will have random oneshots that feature different moments in their lives. I'll keep them all in one place for convenience sake.

I don't have a beta, so all errors are mine.

* * *

It was supposed to be a regular morning for Tony. He woke up, rolled over, kissed his man good morning (it must have been love – morning breath was never brought up), and stumbled into the elevator in aims of finding breakfast on the communal level.

He was positive that he could smell Bruce's Banging Banana Pancakes (dubbed thus by Tony), and it was confirmed when the elevator doors slid open and Tony shuffled out like a zombie, drawn to the siren call of freshly brewed coffee and Big Green's badass cooking skills.

Half a cup of coffee later, he was feeling marginally more human when he realized that the others were staring at him.

"What?"

"What are you wearing?" Steve asked, his brow furrowed.

Tony had _thought_ he'd gone to bed in boxers and a t-shirt, but when he looked down he realized that they weren't his. He was sporting a pair of Captain America boxers and a black tie was looped loosely around his neck. The t-shirt was white, which was a color he didn't own very many clothes in, and Tony dimly wondered at what point in the night they'd switched clothes.

"Mmm," was his diplomatic reply as he brought his coffee cup to his mouth, moaning around the sip.

"Are you actually wearing Captain America underwear, Tony?" Bruce murmured, exchanging Tony's cup of coffee with a plate full of pancakes. Whining a bit, Tony pawed for his coffee with one hand, but was careful not to upset his delicious cargo.

"Well, they're not _mine_," he grumbled, taking his plate and plopping down into a chair. The night before had been amazing, but he didn't really feel like explaining himself to his teammates. When Natasha snatched his left hand mid-grab for syrup, Tony realized he probably should have.

"What is this, Stark?" She asked with a threatening tone that was masquerading as curiosity.

'This' turned out to be a silver band on his ring finger, and Tony felt something shift in the room. All eyes were on his hand, and the damning flash of silver that looked a hell of a lot like a wedding ring. Not that it wasn't a wedding ring, but still.

"Just where _were_ you last night, Tony?" Clint leered, his gaze following the line of Tony's arm up, freezing at his shoulder. "Why are you wearing Coulson's tie?" He hissed, and Natasha's grip on Tony's wrist became three shades too painful.

"Red! We have a color system, Charlotte! I keep telling you that!"

"Where's Coulson?" Natasha asked, and Tony was equal parts terrified and impressed at the amount of secrets the Spy Twins weren't aware of.

"Right here, Romanov. Stand down."

Natasha dropped his hand at the sound of Coulson's voice. The man managed to make early-morning shuffling both insanely hot and professional, and Tony felt his arousal spark, a low burn curling up and settling in wait for an after breakfast romp. He told his libido to behave, because there was a table full of disgruntled Avengers in front of him and no time for anything fun.

Coulson was wearing red and gold silk boxers, an AC/DC shirt that hugged him just right (Tony made a mental note to buy him more of those), and a pair of Iron Man slippers. His hair was mussed, but his eyes were clear as he took in the scene.

Clint was bristling and Natasha was probably searching for the knives she stashed in her night robe. Steve was looking equal parts alarmed and judgmental, and Bruce was making more pancakes. Coulson shook his head with a sigh, looking straight at Tony.

If their conversation would have had words, it would have gone like this:

_Should we tell them? _Tony tilted his head, crossing his arms.

_They're suspicious and nosy. I don't want Barton in our vents. _Coulson shrugged, brow furrowing ever so slightly.

_Fuck, that's a disgusting thought. Here we go. _Tony made a matching expression of disgust, reaching for the coffee Bruce had placed at the corner of his plate.

Coulson walked around the table and stood behind Tony, resting his hands on his shoulders, thumbs rubbing slow circles on Tony's neck.

"I trust that you won't snap my neck, Agent. I need to be alive to be fabulous," Tony cajoled, taking a sip of coffee.

"Is this some sort of sex pollen thing? Coulson, did he force you into this?" Clint barked, glaring at Tony.

Everyone's gazes were accusatory, and even Bruce, was studying Tony with a critical eye. It made Tony want to disappear and curl around the hurt that bloomed through his chest behind the arc reactor. He felt both angry and worthless at the same time, and would have fled from the table if Coulson hadn't pushed him back down.

"There's no sex pollen involved, Barton," Coulson replied, his voice clipped. Both Clint and Natasha straightened, recognizing the threat in their handler's tone.

"Where were you last night, if you don't my asking?" Steve asked, his voice laden with earnest curiosity.

Tony wanted to bolt, not wanting the weight of their judgment or their stupid pity for Coulson. That's how it always went, even with Pepper. Tony was too much. Tony was a handful. Tony wasn't _worth it_.

He jolted when fingers carded through his hair, grounding him. Coulson was rubbing a thumb up and down the side of Tony's neck, and his fingers were buried in his hair and stroking his scalp. Coulson was still there, still Tony's rock. Taking a deep breath, Tony leaned back and rested against the other man's abdomen, closing his eyes.

"Do you want to tell them?" Coulson murmured.

"Nah. I'm tagging out of this one. You're it."

He knew when Coulson looked back up at the others, knew that they were all confused and on edge.

"We were celebrating our anniversary," the agent said simply, picking up Tony's left hand in his, showing off matching silver bands.

Tony opened his eyes, feeling a stab of vindictive joy that Natasha and Clint were genuinely shocked. Steve was reeling, and Bruce was munching on pancakes, not too terribly worried now that everything was out in the air.

"Since when?" Natasha asked, the affront in her voice.

"Pepper's sister is a cellist in Oregon. We were at some recital thing a couple years back and Phil was there as Little Potts' date. We hit it off, eventually broke it off with the sisters. Got hitched."

"What happens in Vegas doesn't necessarily need to stay in Vegas," Coulson added helpfully.

"When?" Natasha repeated while Clint shuffled in agitation.

"Before Afghanistan," Tony bit out. "Last night was our five year anniversary."

"Well then…" Steve mumbled, staring down at the table with a blush starting at the tips of his ears.

"If that's all," Coulson remarked, plucking a plate of pancakes off the table with one hand, and Tony out of his chair in the other. "We're going to have breakfast in bed. Enjoy your day."

Once they were back on the penthouse level and the pancakes safe in the kitchen, Tony allowed Phil to pull him into a tight hug. They stood like that in front of the New York Skyline for awhile, until Tony started nipping at Phil's neck, hands wandering under the AC/DC shirt.

"What about the pancakes?" Phil murmured as Tony walked them back to the bedroom, t-shirts and boxers abandoned in the hallway.

Tony pushed Phil onto the bed, waiting for his husband to scoot backwards before he straddled him, a palm pressed over the bright pink scar on his chest.

"We have a microwave."

* * *

_Thanks for reading! Reviews are welcome!_


	2. Not If, But When

**A/N: **The second chapter of Not A Cellist, prompted by a comment on AO3 about Phil's reaction to Afghanistan and Tony's return. Lots of feels. Angsty IronAgent. Everyone needs a hug.

* * *

_It would be rational to just give up. Pragmatic, logical. One, two, three months is too long. None of that matters, because Phil will never stop searching._

* * *

They had looked. Some of their best agents had been sent out to retrieve the target, because an engineer with a genius intellect and a penchant for weapons design was a liability they couldn't afford to leave in enemy hands. After a month, it became more and more likely that Tony Stark had died in the desert, and the world would both rejoice and mourn in the wake of his death.

S.H.I.E.L.D. pulled funding. Resources were funneled towards tracking gamma radiation and missions in the arctic. Assets were allocated and rearranged, ops were carried out, and the Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement and Logistics Division continued on as if Tony Stark had never been on their radar.

He never stopped looking. While normally unflappable, Phil Coulson had run himself ragged in his own way, searching for the man who had slotted himself into his heart, pieces locking into place with a whirring of servos. Searching for the man that filled his life with unexpected twists and turns, engineering binges, and last minute flights to Cambodia because Angkor Wat couldn't wait for Phil's next birthday. Searching for his _husband_.

Their wedding anniversary slipped by, and one month ran into another. It was heartening to know that Colonel Rhodes was still able to run reconnaissance, but doubly painful as Phil wouldn't be on the ground if when they recovered Tony.

Over the course of their marriage, they had been lucky enough to stay in the same time zone for more than a day at a time. When that happened, they fell into bed together and didn't emerge until days later, sated and serene. Those nights were the ones Phil cherished; soft murmurs in the darkness, fanciful plans that could never happen, and more serious discussions of What If? Phil had always thought that he would be the one to die in the line of duty. _Phil_ would be brought back in an unmarked casket to face Tony's grief. It hardly ever occurred to Phil to consider _What if it was Tony?_

Grief and determination buoyed Phil through the third month. He spread himself thin, sending Barton and Romanoff out on missions, acting Fury's quiet third (a less threatening version of Hill with an equally impressive skill set.) Nick knew who Tony was to Phil. He would never forget the day that the Director of S.H.I.E.L.D. pulled him aside and asked if he'd been drugged, because he was doing some 'stupid ass shit'. Interpreting that as his boss's blessing, Phil had went on his honeymoon without a trace of guilt.

Reason and logic urged Phil to accept reality. He could see it in Fury's expression, could hear it in Pepper's phone calls. She held onto hope as tightly as he did, but plans had been made if...If. Really, it was all a matter of acceptance. Pragmatism was practically on his resume. He had given presentations on the matter to trainees. He was well known for his judgment calls, and knowing when to give up and pull back.

Pragmatism was thrown out the window when it came to Tony Stark.

* * *

When the call came at three o'clock in the morning, Phil answered without hesitation. Fury was known for calling at ungodly hours, but it could usually wait until six. Body thrumming with anticipation, he accepted the call.

"Coulson."

"They found your boy. Wheels up in an hour."

"Thank you, Sir," Phil replied briskly, ending the call.

Always having a spare suit had its advantages; he was ready in ten minutes and down in the hangar with another forty minutes to spare. Whether an exception had been made, or flight plans disregarded altogether, Phil was in the air ahead of schedule.

He spent the next eight or so hours studying the sitrep. Colonel Rhodes' search party had registered a heat spike in the Afghan mountains, footage reporting a bright fireball blossoming above what would later be identified as an encampment. Tony had been found over a mile away, a bloody and bruised figure trudging through the sand. Blurry pictures from the op included a glowing object on Tony's chest, though it wasn't mentioned in the report.

When the plane landed in Germany, Phil had little patience for jet lag, pushing through until he was striding into the military hospital. A flash of his badge got him through clearance checkpoints, nerves alight with anticipation as he stalked through the hallways. Tony was _close_, and the thought caused a curl of anxious worry and excitement to spread from his chest and rest in his stomach. He could feel his habitual mask of calm slipping, only serving to quicken his pace.

Clinging to his last vestiges of level headed patience, Phil continued until he came upon Colonel Rhodes standing guard outside of Tony's door. The airman looked up, eyes widening in recognition. They had never met, though Phil was aware that Tony had gushed over conference calls about his 'super secret spy husband'. Whether Rhodes had believed it or not was up for debate.

"You're Coulson."

"You're Colonel Rhodes," Phil replied, cursing the breathy notes in his voice.

"You look awfully calm for a man whose husband was just recovered from a terrorist kidnapping," Rhodes stated in a level tone, though the undercurrents screamed accusations.

"I'm far from calm, Colonel Rhodes." The crack in his voice was indicative of that.

As if those were the magic words, Rhodes nodded and clapped him on the shoulder.

"Go in and see our boy. He's refused any pain medication, but he's cleaned up and lucid."

"Good to know. Thank you, Colonel."

Rhodes' hand tightening on his shoulder kept him immobile, though a takedown wouldn't have been difficult despite the difference in their builds. Focusing back on the other man, Phil's listened as Rhodes lowered his voice.

"He asked for you first. This shovel talk is two years too late, but make sure you take care of him."

"Is that a threat?" Phil asked mildly, though his nerves were fraying. He just wanted to see his husband.

"Just a promise. Take care of him, Coulson."

Another nod had Phil out of Rhodes' grasp and stepping into the hospital room. A quick snick of the deadbolt had the door locked and the blinds were dropped shortly after. Turning, Phil saw Tony immersed in his phone, most likely communicating with JARVIS while checking on Stark Industries. One arm was strapped into a sling, the other covered in patchwork bandages. Smaller lacerations littered his face, neck, and arms, with another bandage taped high on his forehead. His beard and hair were both longer than Phil had ever witnessed; he could barely restrain the urge to run his fingers through it and revel in the length.

"Locking the door won't make me eat, Rhodey," Tony replied distractedly.

"It's a good thing I'm a lot more persuasive," Phil replied.

Tony had probably risked whiplash with how quickly his head snapped up, brown eyes wide and mouth agape.

"_Phil_," he whispered, and Phil could almost see the carefully cultivated walls of nonchalance come crashing down.

Words no longer necessary, Phil strode over the bed, leaning down to capture his husband's mouth in a searing kiss. Someone whined, he'd never be able to tell who, and then Phil was dragged onto the bed without breaking the kiss. Straddling his husband with care, he angled his head then slipped his tongue past Tony's lips, licking his mouth while relishing Tony's whimpers. Tony returned the kiss with desperate fervor, hands scrabbling across Phil's back.

Deciding they could both use some air, Phil pulled back. With one armed braced above Tony's pillow, Phil pressed his forehead against his husband's, breaths ragged. His free hand made its way to the mess of black hair, stroking and petting while their breathing evened out.

"That was pretty hot," Tony managed.

"You still have bad timing," Phil murmured, pressing his lips to Tony's cheek.

"I guess you missed me?"

"Desperately."

"Good. I missed you too."

Phil was surprised at the rumbling noise that emanated from his chest as he kissed Tony again. He idly wondered what had happened to the sling as the other man ran both hands up and down his front, knuckles brushing over his groin. Lust hadn't even crossed Phil's mind during their encounter, but the more he thought about it, the more he _wanted_. When he had let himself, he had spent his nights imagining Tony under him, on top of him, inside of him. He wanted it all and more, and it had hurt to even consider never seeing his husband again.

Mentally shaking himself, Phil pulled away. Now was not a moment to let his libido run rampant. There would be time for that later. He went to swing his leg over so he could slide off the bed, but a strong grip on his jacket gave him pause. Tony stared up at him, his mouth tight and his free hand flexing. Something had happened in that desert, and it made Phil's heart hurt. He knew what could change a man. He knew that something or someone had changed Tony.

"Don't. Go, that is. Don't...just don't leave," Tony whispered.

"I can't keep straddling you," Phil pointed out, then allowed himself to be rearranged so that he was curled around Tony, legs intertwined. Facing each other on the pillow, they pressed closer until their foreheads bumped. Phil hadn't allowed himself to think past this moment. Now that he was living it, he reveled in the fact that Tony was alive, safe, and in his arms.

"I'm not going anywhere." _I'll never leave you, if I can help it_.

"Good. Rhodey doesn't cuddle." _I need you._

The weight of the last three months came crashing down upon him, and all he wanted to do was sleep. But the urge to stand guard over Tony kept him awake, up until a calloused hand caressed his cheek.

"Sleep. Stay."

"Not going anywhere," Phil repeated.

Tony pressed something, and the lights turned off. A diffused blue light emanated from Tony's chest, but Phil put his curiosity in a strangle hold and shoved it away for the time being. Later.

"Love you," Tony whispered into the darkness, shifting closer.

"I love you too," Phil murmured, slinging an arm over his husband and sending up silent thanks for the answer to his prayers.

* * *

_Thanks for reading! Reviews are welcome!_


	3. i'm drowning in the waters of my soul

**A/N: **Title from the Imagine Dragons song "Nothing Left to Say". I've always felt like this song really applies to Tony Stark on a good day, even more so after writing this.

_There is mention of suicidal thoughts/what was meant to be a one way trip, so if that's a trigger for anyone, please skip this installment._

This is a continuation of the Not a Cellist Verse, though it's not in any way chronological. Someday I'll post a list to read it in order. For now, enjoy the snapshots of Phil and Tony's life! (Or not, in this case. This is sad.)

As always, I don't have a beta, so all errors are mine.

* * *

_When the void opened up before him, it was a welcome sight._

* * *

His husband was _dead. _

Nothing more than a stain on the wall and the blood soaked Captain America cards Tony had given to him for his birthday. Those fucking cards.

Rogers asked if Phil had left anyone behind. He nearly choked on the words that there was a cellist or something.

_Not a cellist. _

Had Tony ever lost a soldier? Yinsen and Phil weren't soldiers, none of them were soldiers. He told Rogers that much as he felt himself pulling apart at the seams.

When Loki launched him out the window, Tony had considered not deploying the suit. A life without Phil seemed, for a moment, to dwarf all of his responsibilities as Iron Man, as an Avenger. Without Phil, those things would mean nothing.

Without Phil, they meant _everything_. Knowing that his husband believed in the Avengers, believed in _him_, Tony deployed the suit and allowed his grief to carry him through the battle. He could feel JARVIS' sorrow, the AI threading through the suit and microprocessors to exact vicious retribution upon the Chitauri when Tony couldn't lift his arms any longer. Tony fought while he screamed himself hoarse off-comms, JARVIS a silent company as his heart shattered into pieces, no longer held in place by ineffable calm and a cheap suit.

The Avengers came together as a team, and Phil's dream had become a reality, and it hurt so fucking much that Tony couldn't stand it.

Then there was a nuke.

Tony didn't have anything left, really. Sure, there was Pepper, Rhodey, JARVIS, Happy. But there was no Phil, and what better way to go out than by saving all the people that Phil loved too? It made a twisted kind of sense, though he did try to make contact with Pepper as the vast expanse of the void opened up to him.

_You know that's a one-way trip?_ Cap had asked.

Oh yeah. That's what Tony was counting on.

* * *

His bruises had bruises. His faceplate was gone, there was no JARVIS in his ear, and the sun was dimmed by the clouds of dust in the air. The Hulk's roar had scared the ever loving consciousness right back into him, leaving Cap and Thor smiling down, their expressions somewhere between 'Oh hey, the jackass is alive' to 'There is some serious shit rubbing wrong in my spandex.'

It was gratifying to know that no one had kissed him. Even better knowing that his little jaunt into space caused the hive minded aliens to drop like flies.

They had saved New York, come together as a team, and possibly saved the world. He had never felt more empty in his life.

* * *

_Thanks for reading! Comments welcome! _


	4. Let's Celebrate (That I Found You)

**A/N:** Hello all! Merry Christmas and happy holidays to everyone! Christmas is just about over for me, but I wanted to share_ Let's Celebrate_ with everyone, as both a nod to the season, and as the last bit of fluff you get before everything gets sad and the S.S. Feels sets sail.

On another note, I want to thank everyone who favorites/follows/reviews. It means the world to me, and I love hearing from you! If you ever want to talk about Not a Cellist, discuss IronAgent feels, or just chat, my email is on my profile page, and you can find me on tumblr as **roodlz**

As always, I have no beta so all errors are mine.

* * *

_It's Tony's first Christmas as a married man, and things have changed. The stakes seem a little higher, and it's not just strip poker and Star Trek marathons anymore... Islands are fantastic Christmas presents, right?_

* * *

The first Coulson-Stark Christmas spent as a married couple was equal parts amazing and terrifying. Their first two Christmases passed in an easy fashion, as they were dating on-and-off and Tony was testing the waters of monogamy. When Tony wasn't going to galas and charity balls, he was holed up in Phil's apartment in Oregon, where they engaged in drunk chess, strip poker, and Star Wars marathons, occasionally mocking the Christmas movies on Lifetime.

After they got married, Christmas seemed to take on new meaning, bringing with it a whole new set of issues. What did he get for his husband, who held the patent on placid smiles and seemingly bland taste? The man was an immovable rock, his main loves Captain America, his tazer, and immaculately kept three piece suits. Tony hoped that he ranked closer to Captain America than suits, but one could never be too sure. What was he supposed to do that wasn't ostentatious and over the top?

The worry plagued him, dogging his heels into Stark Industries where he attempted to be a good CEO for once and collaborate with R&D while getting some paperwork finished. After he missed the Sign Here line for the fifth time, Pepper finally got fed up with him and perched on the edge of his desk. Glancing at her from the corner of his eye, Tony huffed out a breath and slumped in his chair, well aware that he was approaching over-dramatic.

"Care to tell me what troubles you, Mr. Stark?" She asked, folding her hands and leaning towards him. Once upon a time, Tony entertained a fleeting crush on strawberry blonde hair and freckles, but the idea of commitment had sent him running straight into the arms of a man who took what Tony gave and patiently waited for him to get his head out of his ass.

"Christmas," Tony muttered.  
"Christmas? I thought you were an atheist?"  
"I am. There's a thing. Or a person. Who still celebrates Christmas."  
"Is it about your mystery keeper? The reason you haven't ended up in the tabloids for a few months?"

Huh. Glancing down at his phone, Tony had been sure that he had told Pepper he'd gotten hitched... Making a note to JARVIS, Tony looked up from the screen with a scowl.  
"If that's what you want to call it." He didn't sound defensive. No way.  
"I'm not going to hunt them down, Tony. I could, but I won't. You've been behaving, which I for one am very grateful for."  
"I'm not that bad," Tony protested, though he was well aware how untrue the statement was.  
"Mmhm," Pepper hummed. "So, what are their interests? Do I at least get to know their gender?"  
"He likes reading, watching TV, and long walks on the beach," Tony simpered. Phil hated long walks. Short walks were preferable.  
"Tony."  
"Two out of three ain't bad, Pep."  
"Do you want my help or not?"

Tony spun in his chair, grunting when his knees knocked into his desk. He knew damned well what he could do, but he wasn't sure if it would be overkill or not.

"Captain America. He loves Captain America," he grumbled.  
"That seems ironic," Pepper murmured, examining her nails as her thoughts undoubtedly drifted to the massive collection of Captain America memorabilia collecting dust in Stark Mansion. She knew how much Tony loathed that part of his legacy, the spectre hovering above the memories of his father.  
"Yup. I call it shitty odds. Out of all the men that I would have chosen to play house with, this one had to have matching curtains of patriotism."

Pepper looked up sharply, but chose not to comment as she engaged him in a staring match. Tony had hired her for that tactical stare down. And the ballsy way she called him out on his bullshit. Once upon a time, it was a turn on. Now, it was one of the many things that impressed/terrified him.

"It seems easy, then."  
"How is that easy? I should just buy him something. A car. An island. I bet he'd like an island. Who doesn't like islands?"  
"Tony."  
"I mean, he could use a tan. He's pretty pale, but he's got a badass pair of secret ninja sunglasses. He'd probably get a tan line from his dress socks."  
"Tony."  
"Dress socks can be very attractive. Did you know that? I think I have a new kink."  
"Tony."  
"Yeah, Pep?"  
"Please be quiet."  
"That is no way to talk to your boss."  
"Do you want my help, Mr. Stark?"  
"I do, Miss Potts."  
"Captain America. Pick something from your collection. Don't be insensitive."  
"I'm the definition of insensitive," Tony grumbled.  
"Try to refrain."  
"Why do I pay you again?"  
"Because I made copies of those documents you signed incorrectly, and I work in tandem with your computer to run your life."  
"Ah. All good reasons."  
"If that will be all, Mr. Stark?" Pepper asked, sliding off the desk and replacing the ruined documents with their backup copies.  
"That will be all, Miss Potts," Tony replied with a glare, knowing he was sulking. She smiled brightly at him, waiting until he finished signing before walking out.

* * *

Christmas morning was appropriately cold and snowy for Oregon. While Tony had wanted to retreat to Malibu and celebrate whatever it was they were celebrating in the warmth, Phil had insisted that they stay in Portland for their first Christmas. The apartment was livelier than Tony had ever seen it, given that there was a Charlie Brown tree in the corner with a few presents wrapped underneath and some other decorations scattered in the space. Pepper had sent along a package for Phil, still unaware that he was Tony's husband, with strict instructions that Phil be the one to open it.

Phil's bed, while smaller than Tony's, was ridiculously comfortable, meaning that Tony was loathe to get up when the alarm went off. They were still tangled together after a night of enthusiastic sex (did he call it lovemaking now that they were married? No? Maybe?), Phil moving away for a moment to turn the alarm clock off. He rolled back into Tony's arms, a dopey smile on his face that Tony found really fricking adorable for no real reason.

"Merry Christmas," he murmured, pressing a chaste kiss to Tony's lips. Humming, Tony allowed a drowsy warmth to envelope him as he returned it. Snuggling closer, Tony broke the kiss and tucked his head against Phil's shoulder.

"Nngh. It's too early. Many happy returns or something, let's go back to sleep," Tony grumbled.  
"It's noon," Phil replied with a chuckle, reaching up to card his fingers through Tony's bed head. Tony nibbled on his neck, pleased when his husband started massaging his scalp.  
"I'm only available every other Thursday," Tony said, voice muffled.  
"Good thing it's that Thursday," Phil replied, letting his hand slip out of Tony's hair before he rolled away. Tony keened at the loss, slumping against the pillows for a moment before rolling out of bed with a grunt. Too damned early. Who needed Christmas? Nobody, that's who. Not if it meant getting out of bed before three.

Scratching his chest and tasting how nasty his mouth was, he shuffled to the bathroom to brush his teeth. Autopilot carried him through, and it only occurred to him later that he wasn't sure whose toothbrush he used, or when he had even put on a red t-shirt and some black boxers. The scent of breakfast lured him into the kitchen, where Phil was standing over the skillet in a white t-shirt, Captain America boxers, and dress socks. Christ, those dress socks. He got lost for a few moments while considering the uses of dress socks and Phil's (deceptively) toned calves, with the possibility of men's garters, which shouldn't have been hot, but could be-

"Tony," Phil barked, not unkindly as he shoved a plate into his hands. Remembering to grip the plate, Tony looked up to find a ghost of a smirk flitting across the other man's face.  
"Daydreaming?"  
"Oh yeah," Tony nodded, shooting Phil a lecherous grin.  
"Go make the eggs before the pancakes and bacon get cold." Ouch. Shot right out of the sky.  
"Ugh," Tony exclaimed, not caring that he sounded like a sulky teenager. Phil had been making him fix eggs since the early days of their relationship, when Tony confessed that he didn't really know how to cook anything. They hadn't progressed any farther than eggs, and they were always scrambled. Always.

Wiping out the pan, Tony sprayed it and then beat the eggs in a separate bowl, dashing in salt and pepper. Milk for extra fluffiness or some bullshit (don't knock Mama Coulson's recipes if you know what's good for you), and then he dumped them in the skillet, glaring as he prodded them with the spatula.

"That's right, eggs. Obey your overlord," Tony growled as he turned them over.  
"Are you playing conquest in the skillet again?" Phil called from the kitchen table.  
"No!" Tony denied, though he was most definitely playing conquest as he held a lump of egg down with his spatula, smirking as it popped while it cooked. "Bwahahaha," he cackled under his breath, while taking a moment to wonder when his life had come to this. Once the eggs were done, he carried the pan out and divvied them up between their plates, making another trip to drop the pan in the sink and grab the ketchup for Phil. Blech. Ketchup was all well and good, just not on eggs.

"So. What's on the agenda for the day, Agent Man?" Tony asked as he sat down across the table, immediately searching for Phil's feet underneath. After a moment his bare feet brushed against sock feet, and he was content to settle into his chair and drown his pancakes in the syrup Phil had brought out.  
"Breakfast, presents, shower, and an early Christmas dinner with Meaghan and Virginia."  
"Sounds good all the way up to that last part. I don't know if I'm a fan of that part."

Phil wiggled his toes, distracting Tony enough so that he could squirt ketchup onto his eggs without too much screeching. When he looked back up again, Phil was well into his eggs and Tony never got the chance to bitch. Dammit.  
"Seriously. Pepper doesn't even know...You sly dog, you," he said, stabbing his fork near his husband's face. Phil was unperturbed as he began to cut his pancakes into uniform squares.  
"I think it would be a great Christmas present to the woman who runs your life."  
"Mmhm. 'Hey Pep. By the way, I've been married for over six months and neglected to tell you. But he brought a pot roast!'"  
"Do you even know what a pot roast is, Tony?"  
"Should I? If it doesn't run on electricity, process data, or go fast, I don't need to know what it is."  
"I am going to pretend you didn't just say that. Eat your breakfast, Tony."

Muttering to himself between bites, he pushed the thought of dinner with Pepper and Lil' Potts to the back of his mind. What swam up instead was much worse: Christmas presents. He'd spent a lot of time thinking about what he could do for Phil without seeming over the top. He still thought that an island was a great gift, or at least a lavish two weeks somewhere warm that wasn't Oregon. Tahiti, maybe.

He had made his way through breakfast properly worshipful of his husband's pancakes, but he was still on edge. He didn't taste his eggs, and while bacon was usually a love sonnet, he couldn't process much more than 'this is crunchy' and 'damn this tastes good but shit's gonna hit the fan'.

For once, Tony was able to dump his plate in the sink without being scolded for not washing it. A second plate joined his, and then they were in front of the droopy little tree that he'd picked up from a roadside vendor a few days prior. It was almost too small for ornaments, but Phil had wrangled a few colorful bulbs onto it (red, silver, and blue of course) and some garland. Tony had shot down the idea of popcorn strings. Hell no.

"I'm not good at this," Tony blurted.  
"I would have never guessed," was the dry reply as Phil tugged him down onto the carpet.  
"Seriously. Christmas was fucked up in my house."  
"This isn't your house. This is our apartment. I would consider it a marked difference."  
"Semantics."  
"I'll taze you."  
"...Fair enough."  
"There aren't that many here. It will be painless."  
"Lies," Tony hissed while scrabbling for the perfectly wrapped present from Pepper. It was a bright blue monstrosity with silver snowflakes, rattling when Tony chucked it at his husband. Phil deftly snatched it out of the air and looked it over with a bemused smile.  
"I can't even really imagine what this is," Phil confessed as he methodically lifted each taped end and slid nondescript wooden box away from the paper. Tony watched in horror as Phil pressed the still sticky ends of the tape down before refolding the paper.  
"You've got to be kidding me. You save wrapping paper? _Really_?" He spluttered, brow furrowed as Phil leaned over and kissed his cheek.  
"I do. There's no reason to throw it away if it's still usable. Trim it, repurpose it. You never know when you might need it."  
"Just open the damned box," Tony sniped, crossing his arms. He wasn't sure if he really wanted to know what Pepper had sent.

Opening the box so that the lid concealed the contents from view, Phil's face remained blank a few breathless seconds before he laughed. Not just chuckled – _laughed_. Tony watched in confusion as his husband laughed for a good two minutes straight while clutching the box. It became disturbing when the laughter slid into a lecherous grin that had Tony crab-crawling backwards.

"Do I want to know what my P.A. put in that box?"  
"Virginia Potts is conniving. I never would have guessed," Phil said in explanation, before turning the box so that Tony could see. Inside, a red leather leash was coiled around a StarkPhone (from Tony's personal production line, which was way more awesome than anything else on the market).

"I don't get it," Tony mumbled, his mind racing. Instead of replying, Phil handed him the attached card while rummaging through the presents under the tree.

_Mr. Coulson,_

_Merry Christmas, and congratulations on managing to wrangle Mr. Stark into something resembling complacency. If you keep him on a short leash, he completes his projects on time and can be very well behaved. Don't let him get away. I have included a phone with my number programmed in, and JARVIS (I hope you've met him) has been instructed not to delete it. I look forward to Christmas dinner with the two of you._

_Sincerely,_  
_Virginia Potts_

After rereading it, Tony could smell conspiracy in the air.  
"How does she know your name? I brought this last week. Did you two plot this? Are you plotters? Do I have to worry that you're going to run off with my P.A.? _Phil_," Tony whined, irritated that he hadn't looked up from present sorting.  
"Virginia is a very resourceful woman, Tony. If I hadn't stepped forward, then she would have hunted me down to contain the press fallout on her own. In any case, I'm sure we could put a matching collar to good use."

Phil's voice had remained completely level as he spoke, but Tony's face was heating and his libido abruptly returned in full force. It wasn't that Tony _hadn't_ thought of those things. His former bed partners had always been willing women (and sometimes men) who weren't interested in taking the reins. That had been perfectly fine with Tony, until Phil came along. Phil, with his calm demeanor, deceptive strength, and oddly attractive dress socks. When all the factors were added up, Tony was more than happy to be the one thrown on the bed. Among other things.

Clearing his throat, it took Tony a moment to croak out, "Yeah." Desperately searching for some kind of distraction, he grabbed the closest present and thrust it at Phil, forcing him to close the wooden box and set it aside. Pepper had refused to wrap any of it, so Tony and the 'bots had worked on wrapping the presents under JARVIS' patient tutelage. The presents still looked as though they had been wrapped by five year olds, and Phil's expression reflected the sentiment, but it still elicited a smile from the man as he carefully unwrapped it.

Tony wriggled in place, nervous as he watched Phil pull out a pair of socks.  
"Socks?" He asked, though there was no recrimination in his voice. He compared them to the ones he was wearing, rubbing the fabric between his fingers. Tony itched to bring up the price tag, but that was something Phil didn't appreciate. Instead, he scooted forward a bit and pulled a business card out from the folds.

"Yeah, uh. You look good. In socks. Dress socks specifically. That card is for my tailor. I know, I know. Living in the lap of luxury isn't your game, blah blah blah. Just one suit, is all I ask. It's Christmas, right?" Tony rambled, ignoring the way his face heated. He fiddled with the card, refusing to be embarrassed.

The card was plucked out of his fingers, and a kiss pressed to his cheek.  
"This is great, Tony. I was afraid you were going to buy me an island or a fleet of Audis," he said with a chuckle.

Breathing a sigh of relief, Tony was glad Pepper had talked him out of most of his extravagant ideas. While he was ruminating on his gift giving skills (was he really that bad?), Phil pulled out a small package wrapped in red, pressing it into Tony's hands. The wrapping was as meticulously done as Pepper's had been; he almost had the urge to chuck it at the wall due to uniformity. Instead, he ripped open the paper with a wicked grin in Phil's direction, relishing the wince he got in return.

Without the paper, all that was left was a small black box, which could have held anything from a watch to a wallet. Resisting the need to shake the box and guess what was inside (it was a proven method), Tony pulled the lid off and blinked when he saw a silver tie clip nestled in black velvet. He had plenty of tie clips, though this one was set apart by its intricate design: on the end of the clip, set in a circular base were gears of various sizes and colors, fitted together in a steampunk style (that he not-so-secretly loved). In the middle of the clip, the letters C-S were engraved, and he would not cry, he would not cry, dammit Stark men don't cry.

"What do you give the man who has everything?" Phil murmured, cupping Tony's hands in his. "I want you to wear this, and know who you come home to."

"I definitely know," Tony leered, if only to cover up the emotion that was threatening to bubble over. He was Tony Stark. He didn't give a damn about feelings. Except when his husband gave him gifts that were simple but insanely thoughtful and he really couldn't deal without the presence of alcohol.

Gathering himself, Tony pulled the next to last present from under the tree, handing it to Phil. It was smallish, and wrapped in paper that featured American flags coupled with snowflakes.

Pepper needed a hell of a raise for her brilliant ideas.

Tapping a finger on the paper, Phil smiled as he opened it with utmost care. Watching him fold the paper set Tony on edge, and he nearly vibrated in place while waiting for him to open the damned present.

"I know you aren't into holidays, but I appreciate the effort you put into this," Phil murmured, sliding a finger under the last bit of tape and popping the paper. He fell silent as the paper was peeled back to reveal a comic book that Tony was damned sure Phil didn't own.

"Tony...Is this...?"

Tony met Phil's gaze, wanting to soothe the fragile hope shining back. Phil looked back down at the comic, gingerly pulling it out of the sleeve. Treating the pages as if they were spun glass, Phil slowly flipped through it with an expression of stunned awe.

Shifting in place, Tony fidgeted as his husband reached the end of the comic, tapping his fingers on his thigh as he waited for Phil's reaction. Hopefully it would be a good reaction; it should have been, considering the comic was a first edition Captain America #1, signed by one Steve Rogers with accompanying doodles.

Howard Stark had gotten a hold of the comics on the front, telling Tony the story over and over again about how he and Steve had laughed about it for weeks. For posterity and Stark Jr., Steve had signed Howard's copies and scribbled in some extra bits. The comics had been Howard Stark's pride and joy, not for little boys with more curiosity than sense. A lifetime and a dusty weekend later in the Stark Mansion basement, Tony had decided that Phil deserved the comic far more than he ever did.

"I'm guessing that's shocked silence. Which means that I am fabulous and you are yet again basking in my presence."  
"Did you buy this?" Phil hadn't looked up, still running light fingers over the cover.  
"What? What does it matter?"  
"I've seen first editions only a handful of times, and they cost a fortune. _And_ with Captain Rogers' signature? How much did you spend?"  
"Oh, uh..." Tony scratched his nose, deliberately staring past Phil's ear at the wall.  
"Tony." Uh oh. That tone sounded an awful lot like 'doghouse' or 'couch'.  
"My dad. He was a Captain America nut. He knew the guy, right? Made his tech and shit. They were friends, and after the good Captain disappeared, he got obsessed. So. There's this collection. Of things. In my basement."  
"You have a massive collection of Captain America paraphernalia in your basement?"

Tony ran a hand through his hair, huffing out a breath.  
"Yes. I knew you didn't have that one. No one has that one. I thought that maybe I could show you sometime? The collection. At my mansion. The place is dusty and haunted with the memories of Starks past, but I know that you would probably get off on the sheer amount of patriotism, pants on and everything."

Rolling his eyes, Phil tucked the comic back into its sleeve with the sort of reverence usually found at church altars and in cults. Tony knew going in that he'd already drank the Kool-Aid, so there was no going back.

A moment's inattention had Tony flat on his back, Phil straddling his waist in those damned boxers and dress socks. God.

"You are one of the most infuriating men I've ever met," Phil growled, leaning down so that his nose touched Tony's.

Tony's stomach dropped a bit, because he always figured that Phil would be the one to end things. Logic kicked in just in time to stay the doubt, insisting that Phil wouldn't be grinding down if he was truly mad. Lifting his hips a bit to participate, Tony grinned at the hitch in his husband's breath.

"But you love that about me. How could you not?"  
"How could I not," Phil repeated, pressing his mouth to Tony's. The kiss was brief but intsense, sensation flaring up his spine to tingle over nerve endings to his finger tips and toes. Phil was everywhere and then he was gone, pupils blown with a thin rim of blue irises.

"I guess your next present lends itself to that, though I had no idea."  
"Oh?" Tony asked, not really interested. Christmas Sex was within his grasp.

Phil reached back to the tree without moving, dropping the last present on Tony's chest. It was wrapped in silver, which he didn't feel bad about ripping into to reveal another black box. It rattled a bit before the lid was popped off, revealing a set of keys.

"Did we get a firesafe? Honey, you shouldn't have."  
"Shut up, Stark," Phil quipped, though the upwards tilt to his mouth meant only good things for Tony.  
"Never. So what are the keys for? I'm absolutely _dying_ here," he retorted, tilting his hips for emphasis. Phil's low groan was reward enough, though it was disappointing when he regained his composure.

"We've got an apartment waiting for us in New York. It's near Stark Industries headquarters, near my offices, and close enough that you can't talk your way out of showing me that treasure trove of Captain America paraphernalia," Phil explained dangling the keys from the tip of his finger.

"I'm guessing there's more?"  
"I've got an assignment coming up that will keep me in New York for long enough that I need you nearby, lest I stray into celibacy," he delivered with deadpan expression.

Tony's eyes widened and his mock gasp echoed throughout the room.  
"Christ. No. That was in my vows, baby. You _will_ get laid, and that is guaranteed. I guess New York wouldn't be so bad."  
"Mmhm. I hate to have sex because of my idol, but I am very close to listening to you whine about rug burn all day."  
"You don't have to tell me twice," Tony said with a grin.

Stumbling to their room, Tony let himself be tackled onto the bed, smirking as Phil kissed him again. Shirts were yanked over heads, boxers were shucked, and the only thing between Tony and Christmas sex was a pair of dress socks. Dear god.

"Leave them on," Tony croaked when Phil got off the bed to slide his socks down his calves. A devilish smirk crept across Phil's face as he straightened, then stalked straight backed over to the bed, both predatory and authoritarian all at once. If asked, Tony wouldn't be able to say that he wasn't turned on.

"You want the socks to stay?"  
"Mmm. Yes, please."  
"I believe that can be arranged, Mr. Coulson-Stark."

Tony looked up at his husband as he crawled onto the bed, a picture of lean, wiry muscle that was littered with scars and a thousand stories that Tony wanted to hear. Hearing his _real_ last name sent a thrill of pleasure racing up his spine once more, and he tilted his head back without prompting so Phil could kiss his neck.

"I would thoroughly enjoy that and _you_, Mr. Coulson-Stark," Tony hummed, pulling Phil up for a kiss while reflecting that there were some things he would leave out of his tale to Pepper, as he recounted the success of the first Coulson-Stark Christmas.

* * *

_Thanks for reading! Reviews are welcome!_


	5. Enshrined

**A/N: **Hello everyone! Hope you had a good New Year's and that 2014 is treating you well!

I'd waffled on posting this, since there's another chapter of Let's Celebrate on its way, but I realized I can post whenever and however I like, and decided to go right on ahead (I'm also rather sad today, so I wanted to make myself feel better, haha.)

As always, I'd like to give a huge, huge shout out to everyone who comments and leaves kudos. It means a lot to me that you all take the time to let me know how I'm doing. I will never hold chapters hostage for reviews, but it is really encouraging to get feedback!

**there's envy in my bones** is a three part series, dealing with Tony's serious insecurities over one Steve Rogers/Captain America. They're short, but jam packed with feels. This work will have 3 chapters, with the second chapter coming in the next day or so. Hopefully I can come back with some fluff after this maelstrom of angst.

Wow. Super long note!  
As always, I have no beta so all errors are mine.

* * *

_As Phil and Tony move through the stages of their relationship, Tony reflects on Phil's love for the ultimate American Hero, and how he will never, ever measure up._

* * *

Tony and Phil's relationship had started with sarcasm and thinly veiled threats of violence, nearly ending with Phil's shrine to one Captain America.

Some six months into the relationship, when they'd moved on from rather naughty encounters in shadowy corners and bathroom stalls to something that smelled suspiciously like monogamy, Phil told Tony that there was something he needed to show him.

Phil's uncharacteristic shyness on the matter should have been Tony's first tip off. Phil lived his life with his placid smile firmly in place; shy wasn't in his repertoire. It all became clear when Tony was let into the one room he'd been forbidden to enter in Phil's generously sized (if empty) apartment. A nondescript door opened into what could only be described as a fanboy's heaven or a collector's wet dream.

Red, white, and blue adorned every available surface: action figures, posters, framed first editions of comics, paraphernalia, models, trading cards. Phil had it all, and Tony felt an uncomfortable trill of irony that some of the pieces had come from his old man's collection. Tony knew for a fact that his old man's secret stash of Captain America memorabilia was unparalleled, though Phil came close. Maybe someday Tony could take him into the musty storage room that housed most of Steve Rogers' worldly possessions.

Tony had grown up loving the Captain, both out of a desperate need for his father's affection and from the need to believe there was a greater good. It seemed that Phil loved Captain America more (not that Tony had an issue with that.) The hero worship didn't bother Tony so much as the memories associated with them: his father was always in the arctic, searching and searching while his mother drank herself into a depression that she never recovered from. There was always a standard, and Tony never measured up. Steve Rogers was the greatest man Howard Stark ever knew, and Tony would never come close, as either a man or a son.

He dimly realized that Phil was still in the doorway, tense and wearing his 'Agent Face', which Tony kind of hated.

"Do you have Captain America underwear?" Tony asked without thinking.

The furrowing of Phil's brow and the tightening of his jaw were both indicators that Tony should have paid attention to, but he was stuck in a loop of _not good enough_ and _Captain America ruined my childhood_.

"I don't think that's really important," Phil said in a level, neutral tone.

"It sure is, Agent Man. I'm impressed, though. I don't think I've seen such a brilliant display of obsession and flag motifs."

"Please get out, Stark," Phil said, his voice never wavering.

"Back to that, huh? Yeah, I'll go. I don't know if I want Steve Rogers judging me for thinking about your kinky underwear."

"Get. Out."

Something flared up in the back of Tony's mind. He'd overstepped, and while he wasn't an expert on body language, Phil looked as though he was going to bodily throw him out of the room without making sure there was something soft to land on. Considering it a tactical retreat, Tony backed out of the room and moved into the den. He'd fucked up somewhere, probably in the Shrine to Patriotism.

It took a few minutes, but Phil had regained his composure by the time he'd locked the door, though he radiated tension as he moved past Tony to get to the kitchen. Tony wasn't sure whether he wanted to poke the man, or attempt to soothe his ire with sex and apologies. He didn't have to do either as Phil turned back with a glass of water held in a white knuckled grip.

"Happy is on his way."

"You called my driver? Why do you have his number? Should you? Are you conspiring against me?" Tony rattled off, turning an about face that led into a lively round of pacing.

"Yes," Phil answered simply, taking a sip of his water.

Something niggled in the back of Tony's mind. Possibly a twinge in his chest, though he was pretty damned healthy with the exception of his liver. It had never fully recovered from MIT. Pacing without any regard for his lover-boyfriend-some guy that Tony happened to really like, he finally finished navigating his mind scape to reach a conclusion. Damn.

"Oh shit. I hurt your feelings. Huh. I didn't know that was a thing. Is it a thing? Yeah, it's a thing," Tony rambled, running a hand through his hair.

"That might be an over exaggeration," Phil muttered, not meeting Tony's gaze.

"No. You don't get to do that. You are supposed to reliably call me on my bullshit. You are my roadside assistance, Agent Man."

"Did you just liken me to AAA?"

"Maybe?"

"This is why no one would call on you for negotiations."

"I take offense to that," Tony grumbled, moving into the kitchen.

"You should. It was intended."

"This started with a thing. Oh yeah, feelings. Your feelings. That I kind of insensitively curb stomped, which I think is kind of morbid, and Pepper wants me to take sensitivity classes for some reason, and I just don't-"

Phil clapped a hand over his mouth, blue eyes shining under the fluorescent kitchen lighting (ew), and Tony would think he was mad except for the thumb that was rubbing his cheek.

"You are an asshole," Phil began, "who is insensitive, overbearing, and more than a little spoiled."

Well. He wasn't wrong.

The glass of water clinked on the counter, their positions switched so fast it blurred his vision. His back hit the granite, digging almost uncomfortably as Phil crowded into his space, a leg between his knees. Huh

"I also realize I should have warned you, since you have issues with authority figures."

Tony licked his hand, grinning as Phil wiped it on his pants leg with an unamused look. Staying where he was, Tony reached into his rarely tapped well of sincerity.

"I don't have any issue with you, and Cap isn't an authority figure. Just a maelstrom of shitty memories of my shitty dad. Hey! I used maelstrom! That was from that book club thing you wanted me to do but didn't, and I'm sorry I made a crack about your Captain America thong, and I think we should do Italian tonight."

Their eyes met and held, and Tony was the first to move as he leaned forward and pressed his mouth against Phil's. The kiss was slow and apologetic, a plea for forgiveness as he wrapped his arms around the other man's neck. There was no hurry, just a gentle meeting of mouths and the feeling of their bodies pressed together. Eventually, breathing became paramount; there they were in Phil's kitchen practically humping each other (sort of), foreheads pressed together while they panted.

"I think I said sorry somewhere."

"Apology accepted. How about that Italian?"

"Sounds good."

While waiting for Phil to shrug into his jacket and lace his shoes, Tony figured if he could accept a Captain America shrine, he could swing a monogamous relationship (or something close to it.) Phil was the kind of guy worth trying for.

* * *

_Thanks for reading! Reviews welcome!_


	6. i can number the ways

**A/N: **Thanks for the reveiws, everyone! I'll say it over and over again: I really love getting feedback. I'm glad that others can enjoy Phil/Tony as much as I do!

That being said, there's more Tony feels ahead. Another short one. At some point, I'll post Tony when he's confident and self-assured, but there is none of that here. At all.

Some upcoming stuff...hmm. Another chapter of Let's Celebrate, a reunion piece (but which reunion?!), Coulson taking Fury to task, the Avengers' collective guilty conscience...fun stuff! And the third chapter to **there's envy in my bones**. Whee!

(The full chapter title is: i can number the ways (in which i don't deserve you) FFN said no.)

As always, I don't have a beta, so all errors are mine.

* * *

Before they defrosted the All American Hero, Tony had been pretty confident in his husband's fidelity. If Phil was going to cheat with anyone, it would have been Captain America. It was fortunate then, that Captain America was dead.

Until he wasn't.

The S.H.I.E.L.D. files weren't hard to hack; camera feeds, vital signs, and body temperature monitored the soldier as the careful thawing took place. Tony watched as his husband flitted around, batting at lower level agents like flies when they became a nuisance. Fury orchestrated the whole event, slotting Phil into a space where he would be able to watch the finale.

Eventually, Tony had to stop watching.

It had been a good month since Phil had been home for more than a couple of hours at a time, and he could hardly be blamed; it was his childhood hero, after all. It worked out, since Stark Tower was being built, and there was plenty of stuff to do with the arc reactor project. He fiddled with the Mark VII, tested his homing bracelets, stared at a bottle of Macallan longer than was healthy.

What did Tony have to offer Phil now? A fucked up heart, a slew of daddy issues, a bad reputation, suits that he would never part with. He was Iron Man. He was Tony Stark. He was the sum of his parts, and his parts were _worthless_. Especially when he compared all of that to Captain America. To Steve Rogers. He had grown up on stories of Steve Rogers, the man who liberated Hydra camps, led raids, and ultimately sacrificed himself to save the world. _There was no comparison._

Four years of marriage. That wasn't so long. Two or three years of dating before that. Had there been any mind control? Had Phil been drugged when they'd said their vows? It was beginning to look more and more likely as Tony broke their relationship down and turned it over and over in his mind, picking it apart piece by piece to find any form of reason for Phil to stay with him.

Why would anyone want to marry Tony Stark, except for his money and the Iron Man suits?

* * *

When Phil came back from whatever celebratory orgy S.H.I.E.L.D. had held, he was wearing a fragile smile that nearly broke Tony's heart. There was hope in that smile, with an excited exhalation of breath when Tony asked what he'd done in Spy Kids School. (The answer was "Classified", as always.) The man was so damned cheerful, that even his not-smile was blinding and too much to bear. Taking his wounded pride and breaking heart, Tony tucked his tail between his legs and hid out in the workshop.

Figuring he was scheduled for binge inventing, Tony threw himself into unfinished projects, Iron Man armors, and debugging some of JARVIS' code. He couldn't have been down there for more than a few hours when a mug of coffee was set in front of his nose. It was a siren's call, as coffee was his main weakness (after the arc reactor, alcoholism, and Phil at the very top.) Peering up, Tony wondered when his vision went fuzzy, though it cleared easily enough to reveal Phil, dressed in a polo and slacks (as casual as he'd let himself get).

"You disappeared so quickly, you'd think you were running from me," Phil stated, propping a hip on the work bench.

Sipping his coffee, Tony knew better than to look up. There was blood in the water, and Phil was a fast swimmer. Fucking shark. It had to be S.H.I.E.L.D.'s doing. His free hand fiddled with a screwdriver, pinky lifting to swipe at the holo-screens and tinker with nothing in particular. He was on the verge of getting lost in an actual project when Phil cleared his throat.

"Tony."  
He couldn't look up. He couldn't let Phil see his weakness, his failure. He was Tony Fucking Stark, but he'd never be Captain America.

"There are threats, and then there are references to the Super Nanny Incident. I have every faith you'll make the right decision."  
"Blackmail," Tony growled, his voice hoarse. The Super Nanny Incident should never be repeated. Ever.  
"Then let's go upstairs. Pepper's gone for the day, I can make pancakes. You can attempt the eggs. We'll watch some Star Trek."  
"Are you catering to me or are you pandering?"  
"I like to think of it as a mix of both," Phil replied, voice lowering.

Inhaling the rest of the coffee, Tony finally looked up to see the worry flit across his husband's expression before it was squirreled away into Phil Coulson's Box of "Nonexistent" Emotions. Gaze trailing downward, Tony noticed that Phil's arms were crossed, the sleeves loose over the wiry muscle that never failed to surprise Tony. The man very rarely dressed down, usually preferring to stay in his damned suit from sunup to sundown (though it was great for strip poker and games of 'Quick! Strip Each Other!'.) It meant that Phil had a very good day, and he wanted to share that with Tony.

"It's only because you're bribing me with pancakes and sex," Tony grumbled, sliding off his stool. A flick of his wrist and JARVIS saved all of his projects and cancelled the holo-screens. The workshop seemed inherently too bright without the blue glow, so it only added to his grumbling as he shuffled the two steps to his husband.

"They work every time," was the smug reply as Tony allowed himself to be enveloped in a tight hug. "I'm sorry I haven't been home much. Work has been pretty hectic."

(_Yes, oh so hectic. Resurrecting your hero will do that to you.)_

"S'ok," Tony murmured against the fabric of Phil's shirt. He felt tired. Why did he feel tired?  
"Let's go upstairs. I dislike asking DUM-E to haul you into the elevator."  
"When have you had to do that?" Tony asked, faking indignation.  
"I'll have JARVIS make you a music video."  
"Traitors. All of you."

Making their way up to their apartment level (which was not actually the penthouse level), Tony went about scrambling eggs. Focusing on the plebeian task, he was able to ignore the well of hurt that ached behind the arc reactor. Phil was here, with him. He had come home. He would always come home. He'd promised.

Phil busied himself with making pancakes (with blueberries, which were Tony's favorite), humming the 'Star Spangled Man' under his breath. On the verge of hysteria, Tony finished the eggs, put extra pepper on Phil's, and plated them in preparation for the pancakes. With the excuse of fetching syrup and browsing an entirely unnecessary DVD collection, Tony hid out in the living room until Phil appeared with the plates. By waving Aunt Jemima and flashing a sheepish grin, Tony escaped a lecture and was able to claim his spot on the couch without Phil hogging the pillows.

Sitting on the comfiest couch Phil's trip to the furniture store could buy, Tony felt his worries roll off his shoulders, disappearing into the cushions while he poured syrup onto his pancakes. Phil sat next to him, close enough that they were touching at knees, hips, shoulders and everywhere in between. Tony blinked at the dry kiss to his cheek, only able to huff out a breath in response as he attacked his pancakes.

"JARVIS, please play Star Trek from where we left off," Phil asked, methodically cutting his pancakes into precise squares. There was a thin line of ketchup over his eggs,(which Tony still found absolutely ridiculous), butter on his pancakes, but no syrup.

"Yes, Sir," JARVIS intoned before lowering the lights and turning the television on. Theme music played in the background, and if Tony happened to press against his husband to chase away his insecurities, only the three of them would know.

"We'll talk later," Phil promised in between bites of his dinner. "Then, we are spending my entire leave in bed."  
"All of it?" Tony perked up.  
"All of it that doesn't need to be spent on bodily functions and eating, yes."  
"Fuck yeah."

Take that, Captain Asshole.

* * *

_Thanks for reading! Comments welcome!_


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